!! OMG, a Q&A with New Chance (2025) !!

The new album, A Rock Unsteady, by Toronto-based artist and producer Victoria Cheong—aka New Chance—is pure alchemy.

Recently released on her label We Are Time, the musician and vocalist describes this collection of songs as a series of spells. Spells we cast on ourselves. Because we must.

The title A Rock Unsteady conjures a certain little planet—Earth—whose imbalance, corruption, and turmoil have reached a kind of apex. While the album grapples with the collective confusion and horror of existing in this climate, what unfolds is a sprawling, yet piercingly intimate personal journey.

There is no reason
It is not reasonable
We were a part of something
And it was beautiful
We couldn’t figure it out
It was not figurable

The album begins with an impasse. The track, “Doer and Deed,” recalls the vocal experiments of another radical multimedia visionary, Laurie Anderson. Trepidatious beats patter like uncertainly as Cheong meditates on the things we cannot change—the choices we regret, the hopes that persist. What begins in minimalist introspection unfurls into a storm of industrial noise and clatter. “It’s clear down here she has to live with what she’s done.”, she sings.

The path forward is—yes—unsteady.

As the track grows into a kind of devious immensity, a sample from the 1962 cult horror film Carnival of Souls echoes through: a woman, drawn unwillingly toward a sinister force. A similar specter haunts A Rock Unsteady—except here, the terrifying presence is simply life itself, and the journey leads, perhaps, to something hopeful. The destination remains unknown.

What follows is an unflinching work of self-reflection in an age of flaming uncertainty. The artist’s odyssey becomes a descent—an underworld to be crossed in order to survive, or even function, amidst an atmosphere thick with paranoia, grief, and a desperate need for accountability across every stratum of power.

It’s giving conceptual Alice in Wonderland—a twisted journey where the sinister and the sweet entangle in all the strange ways real life demands. “You don’t wanna go down there all alone, do you?” the voice asks. What follows is a personal transformation disguised as an album.

The song becomes a portal. The album, a ritual. The listener? A commune.

At its core, A Rock Unsteady confronts the pressure of navigating personal crisis within a world that offers no direction—a distilled confrontation of uncertainty, rendered in the most hypnotically honest way. This is the big kind of uncertainty—the human kind—heightened by the precarious life of an artist, where rewards are rare and meaning is elusive. It’s a mesmerizing, unsettling experience that gives voice to the ambient confusion we all carry.

We last interviewed New Chance in 2021 following the release of her album Real Time. No stranger to lofty concepts, Real Time dreamily explored the very nature of time. Now, she turns that gaze inward and outward at once.

This is an album of contradictions—one where deep grooves, glitchy production shifts, and dizzying tonal swings create an immersive yet destabilizing experience. But make no mistake: these tracks bop and despite their introspection, would easily find their way to the club. There are real grooves here, complex melodies and production, vast beats, and bewitching textures. This is the world of New Chance: multidimensional, multimedia, and full of overlapping storms demanding care and attention. We’ll get into that.

Filmmaker and artist Kevin Hegge sat down with her to unpack the album, and life’s murkier mysteries—the nature of the unknown, and how it can both employ and consume you. But like… make it fun.

“You don’t wanna go in there all by yourself, do you?” Mary asks in Carnival of Souls. And the answer, dear reader, is: you very much do.

Read the full Q&A with New Chance after the jump!

Kevin Hegge: I can’t help but think of this album in relation to your last, Real Time in 2021.There’s such a completely different mood, and yet there is clearly a “New Chance sound” that has developed over these two records. For me, Real Time felt like you were in the safety zone, looking out and observing time and space like “woooow,” where this one feels more dense and internal. I wondered if you were the type of producer to cobble together old bits and bobs from your archive of beats etc. or what the production story of these sounds was leading to the album?

New Chance: Yeah. I feel like it’s hard for me to know. The sounds that I choose are always… I am really choosy about each sound. Like, I wanna be in love with every single sound. So I will kind of tweak sounds like in beats and stuff and be very deconstructed so that I can treat each sound. It’s like a la carte, you know?

Wait, I don’t think I do know!

The whole record and even my last record kind of feels like it has this a la carte feeling, like where every song is kind of like, “and now this course!” kind of thing, like a menu or something. Like as if it was like a chef and I’m like bringing out a tasting menu. “Have, like, this thing, and now try THIS thing.” Even though I hope it’s ultimately all cohesive, you know?

This album in particular feels very distinctly like a narrative, emotional journey. When songs begin as their own, do you feel a responsibility to construct some sort of story arc to satisfy the listener? Or even just to put yourself at ease in some way about that cohesiveness?

Kind of actually. But I guess there is this kind of internal process where it’s like I know that everything has been created to adhere to certain ideas and themes, but the theme of this record in particular is also like a wandering, not-knowing kind of theme. So that is like a really slippery thing to try to bring to light and be like, “Hey guys, check this out. It’s a record about uncertainty!” Haha.

The only way that I can do that is kind of to like, try to evoke that feeling in some of the improvisation that’s on there. Some of the kind of wandering moments like field recordings and stuff like that, where it kind of like, it moves from one place to another atmospherically, like within one song, often.

It’s interesting to think of each sound, each beat having its own life and identity, I think that is very evident on your records. There’s a palpable level of anxious-wonder on this record, where maybe the vocal bits suggest that everything is fraught with a sort of isolated tension, but then the beats are going off in their own direction to the club… where we are all friends. There’s a theatricality to the life of the music itself, and there’s a lot going on! Some of the tracks make me feel unnerved but I’m like grooving to the anxiety of it all… but make it a question.

Yeah. I feel like with this record, it was made at a time when it was kind of like, “Okay, I am suffering, basically.” And the thing that we can do as creative people is take that and try to move through it and reflect and express what it’s like to make something out of those feelings. [It] feels good. It makes it feel productive and worthwhile and also beautiful, like to find the beauty in the challenges.

I am probably projecting, but it’s hard not to think of this as a post-breakup journey record. I was trying to put it into the world and social politics, because it’s a result of this…

A collective uncertainty, I feel, is there.

Um, so, as much as I tried to refuse that element of it, I’m like, this seems like a breakup record, so is it? Because it is.

Yeah. Like, it’s not exactly… I’ve never thought of it as a breakup record, and there are kind of like romantic references in it. But none of them are regarding a breakup, you know like a real breakup. It’s more like an internal struggle with like, crossing the threshold into more of a midlife phase of life. Maturing and hitting those roadblocks that are just like reality checks that are really harsh.

Yeah.

You know?

Yes.

That’s real and dark and painful, but I think of it as a bit of romance in the pain. Like for me, there’s something that I can find intriguing about the torture of a crush or even an unrequited thing Or something that romantically just can’t happen even though everything makes it seem like it should. There’s a lot of love and there’s a lot of reflections about love and romance in there, just because that’s who I am.

Well, there’s a lot of stuff about just like, “fuck, it didn’t work” and being honest about the complicity in that.

Yeah. And there’s kind of a lot of spiritual kind of references to spiritual teachings or psychological interpretations or something around the necessity of these kinds of phases of life, and the fact that everyone has to experience that.

And then there’s also fantasy. There’s also the acknowledgement of the fantasy, where it’s kind of like, when we’re faced with those things, I can really go into my imagination and make a whole record and fashion myself into the hero of this record, even though it’s kind of like a tragic hero or whatever.

There’s definitely a feeling of moving forward, that there’s a path: a strange, rocky, wavy, windy path, but there’s a resilience in its directionality. On the track “Multiple Storms,” you explicitly point that you’re pushing onwards to Utopia. There is, in theory, at some point a landing, but the shape of that is the unknown. It provides that story arc where there’s a journey but… most of it is the journey! It’s hard, and it’s funny to think of it that way. Was that intentional?

It is [laughs]. Most of it is the dark journey, I think. Then there’s this big theme in the record, which is about material life versus kind of spiritual life and how material life involves suffering, and sometimes it doesn’t make any sense where you’re like, “Where’s the justice? Where’s the fairness?!” Or like, “Why didn’t it result in that?”.

And it’s like, those are the questions that we just have to struggle with in our circumstances, but then there’s also this kind of soul treasure that gets mined from those experiences if we are willing to feel it and go there and let it change us and not break us. The feeling that I had around the emotional feeling of the record is like a person under a lot of pressure.

And then there’s this kind of metaphor about—well, it’s not even a metaphor—it’s just the true fact of how diamonds are mined under pressure or whatever. Like how things that are underground become treasure and extremely valuable. The album ends with this song “Victory” where it’s like a revelation that I didn’t lose. I won. It’s literally me realizing that like, “Wait, what? I’m not a loser!”

Aren’t you sick of these “life gives you lemons” lesson analogies, though? Especially as an artist? My big one right now is “you can’t have flowers without the rain.”

Exactly. You can’t have the lotus without the mud.

You can have light without the dark, but I’m like, exhausted.

It’s very Buddhist. It’s very, like, you know, I’m not a Buddhist, but it is like very like that [laughs].

Aren’t you sick of having to put that emotional, psychological turmoil and effort into something to deserve to be able to create something? Like its penance! I spend most of my time thinking about how I chose this precarious lifestyle and that it doesn’t necessarily suit me because I always feel scared, you know? But then I want to make stuff so I can’t imagine living in any other way. It’s like God’s just testing you to test your strength. And it’s a bit like, well… maybe God should stop being such a little bitch, you know?

Of course, of course. I’m sick of that. I mean the interesting thing about making the record is that now that it’s been released into the world, I feel unburdened a little bit. You know, there is a real release feeling for me of freedom into a newness, because the other thing about all the struggling and the burden and the challenges of the precarious life of being the artist and wanting to be a soulful person and loving deeply, well, losing and grief: that stuff is great compost for being creative. It’s very fertile ground that you’re working with. And also, I’m a Scorpio… That’s also like the transformative, the real transformative stuff.

It’s not pretty… it’s like birth. That’s not pretty. You think you’re gonna die and then there’s something new and it’s like a miracle, you know? So I would say a big part of the record is this transformational space, not just a painful place. So ideally you’re gonna like, become a butterfly. And there’s a lot of that kind of metaphor in there too, like being in a chrysalis and like metamorphosis and stuff like that. Changing. What that feels like. And how if you could remember when you were in the womb and then all of the sudden all this pressure came forth and you didn’t know what was about to come next, and all of the sudden you just had to go into a new place and you start crying because it’s like cold and scary and you don’t have your autonomy or whatever. That’s like birth, death, rebirth kind of stuff.

I guess the burden of the artist’s life is a cliche for a reason. Who else would accept the suffering challenge other than those who fight for beauty?

It’s like when you fall in love; that’s like a drug. And when you break up, it’s also like a bad trip, you know? It’s like a trance. It’s like an altered state emotionally. And it is actually universal and in many ways… would you trade it? Would you rather not experience it? I feel lucky for the experiences I’ve had… once I’m out of them!

Real Time felt like you were watching a storm from inside the eye of it—but the storm was Wonder. It’s like this safe spot you can look out from all the life chaos and just be like, “Woaaaaah, look at that! Woahhhhh, what is that?”,  but on A Rock Unsteady it feels like you’ve been sucked up into it—you’ve been Wizard of Oz’d (speaking of treacherous journeys!)). The comfort the listener might have gleaned from that safe wonder-zone is gone and we look over in the tornado and it’s like, “Oh no! Shes up here with us!” Who’s going to guide us with their wisdom? You’re supposed to be an astrologer and know everything, then you go and make a record about total uncertainty. Don’t you think that’s unfair to us?

She doesn’t know either! I think the last record might have been a bit more dreamy, and maybe even soothing and maybe even a bit more just innocent or something. It’s not that long ago, but a bit more innocent even as an expression.

Making this was a real maturation process personally, where I feel like I’m coming out the other side of it being kind of a different kind of grown-up, even though that doesn’t mean a boring, you kno… old person. I feel kind of weirdly rejuvenated by it. The growing up thing is painful actually. If you don’t avoid it. I think you have to do it eventually. I think I have avoided it until the last minute.

Since the world has been so aggressively falling apart, don’t you feel it only makes the idea of time, which you explored on the last record, more of an intangible, slippery thing? Being an artist , trying to balance paying sky-rocketing bills and rent, and still making room and mental space for your own creative endeavours must have been a huge challenge with this release.

No, I know. It’s been hard for me to know where to put my energy. It’s like I had to kind of get over myself a little bit to even make this record because I was like, “If I’m gonna do this, I have to commit.” And I’m scared because I’m taking a leap of faith into a place I don’t know. And what I do know about it (i.e., the music business), it’s so unlikely that I can make a living off of this. So, so rare! I don’t even know what the answer is, but I did have to get over some hurdles of fear and uncertainty to even make the thing. And now I have to  continue to support it, but you know, I’m in debt from making it! I don’t know how I’m gonna survive.

I want to be creative. I know that I want to do that. I know that I love it and I know that I believe in it and that it’s always existed. Humans have always… expressed, you know, and it helps us! It helps us with the will to live and to survive. But it doesn’t always provide materially and it’s confusing [laughs]. It’s really confusing.

This precariousness you embody on this record, I was thinking of it as like a blender… these songs, everything’s so confusing, you know? And you can’t go outside really, because it gets more confusing. You can’t look at anything inside like social media because it’s infuriating and you don’t understand anything that’s happening. So it’s like this blender of uncertainty.  I wonder how you reached into all that chaos in the blender and pulled out the chunks that would become songs, given that there is so much to choose from, and all of it is intangible?

I turned to a lot of external sources for that. Like, reading about and learning about myths and the tie-in between mythology and astrology. There’s a lot of astrology in the record which is more than I would like to decode in this conversation, but for me, those things have grounded what I know I’m talking about.

With “Victory,” the last song on the record, the whole trajectory of that song is a tarot reading. I literally pulled a bunch of cards. I’m not always checking the tarot, but there’s very much a divination factor in my practice for sure. But it was basically just this reframing of my conundrum—whatever I was looking at—into being like, “Wait a minute, I’m not a loser.” There’s like winning in this spread, you know?

Perspective can be so helpful but so hopeless when you can’t get to it. I don’t know if it was an astrological reference or a Shakespeare thing, but on “Turning Back” you sing “Stars have gone and crossed on me…” which is usually said in terms of luck, or not having it. What’s the difference between luck and fate as an astrologer? How can you have luck if everything is predetermined?

The question of fate and free will is at the heart of something like astrology. I think that most astrologers end up being able to darkly perceive that there are patterns to the complexity of the universe and that destiny is real.

So if you’re trying to read the stars in the sky, it’s like you can only know so much. You don’t know exactly specifically materially what is going to happen. You know that what is going to happen is going to adhere to these kinds of archetypes that are in and of themselves kind of multifaceted.

So in many ways it’s like the stars said “no,” and sometimes they say “yes.” Sometimes they say “no” and/or “yes”! Like, in my material life, I was seduced by something and obsessed with something, like a relationship that wasn’t sustainable, you know?

I do indeed. Did you believe it was sustainable?

No, but I was just really into the vibe of it in the moment, and I couldn’t zoom out. I was just in it and I was all in and I was like, you know, the torture of the obsession or the thing that seduces you that is the dark side in a way. Like a devilish thing that can give you life. Right?

It feels so good and then it feels so bad, and it’s like, “This is just too extreme to maintain.” But going to those extremes is an experience that I can now from a safer place, say I wouldn’t have done any other way. You can’t just hide from experience.

Well, you mention the idea of being blamed for seeking beauty by someone you’re in a relationship with, which is an interesting way to talk about potentially hazardous, or self-harming way to think about art. Beauty’s not always beautiful. Can you get into that?

No, beauty’s complicated.

It reminds me of something you said in our last interview:

“There’s all this in-between experience of life that isn’t just like, ‘I’m happy because I’m in love,’ or ‘I’m sad because I got dumped.’ There’s so much happening in between those big things that I find more interesting to explore.” 

Can you talk about those moments represented here that feel less filled with innocent wonder, and how it feels like a much murkier observation?

I feel like that’s reflected aesthetically in all the vocal harmonies. I think of it as a kind of beauty thing where it’s like sweet singing, feminine voices, but then the way that we can harmonize with each other and also experience intervals of difference with each other. I tried to kind of represent that murkiness or complexity of beauty and the quest for it in the vocal stuff that I wrote.

The composition itself provides a narrative as much as the lyrical role of storyteller?

Yeah. I think the quality of some of the sounds and the quality of some of the harmonies is a little bit unsettled in a certain way, but that might just be like a binary way of thinking in terms of what’s settled or not, or how do we quantify and qualify what is good or not? And what you were saying about the milestones of life. Like, “Oh, this is good; I got married. This is bad; my partner passed away.” You know, yes. But also all the in-between stuff is actually where life happens.

I didn’t intend it, but I noticed when I listened back that the way songs end is they always leave you with a question mark. And “Victory” does kind of the same, where it’s like, you don’t know what’s gonna happen next, but at least you feel like you can keep going. You don’t know what’s gonna happen next, but hopefully you wanna know what’s gonna happen next. Hopefully you want something; hopefully you still want something. You still want something and you feel like you have some empowerment to go on.

That’s gonna inspire someone.

Yeah. I hope so!

Oh, here’s a weird question. The personal, interior quest on this album reminded me of all the stuff a person might be thinking about when they’re having conversations and people ask, “How are you?” And the knee-jerk response is, “I’m fine!” But there are thoughts happening.

Yeah…

I don’t know if that resonates with you at all, but it feels confessional and somehow makes me feel a bit confronted by a mirror or something that makes me nervous.

It makes me nervous too, to be honest. And I didn’t feel that until I put it out there.

Nervous how?

Because I feel exposed in that way and it’s very emotional, you know, It’s super emotional and it’s kind of unashamed. But it’s funny, once something becomes public, then the shame opportunity comes up, right? I’m not ashamed of my diary until someone’s reading it, you know? Then it’s like uh-oh!

It’s actually a very comforting record in a confusing way. Confusion loves company!

I do think of this record as being a lot more slippery and hard to grasp in that way, that I think I also want it to embrace that in the way these songs are sort of like spells, actually. Every song is also sort of like pleading my case to the powers that be—like, the bigger powers that be—like, creative source. It’s like I’m giving all these ingredients. Okay, here’s the spell, or here’s the brew, or here’s the gesture and the kind of action that I can take to try to work with what’s happening to change it. It’s all emotional and psychological.

Turning away from things or shunning things or ostracizing things doesn’t make them not exist. Even the most horrible things… they exist and they continue to exist. So I think working with them or acknowledging them is so key. A lot of what’s in this record is the acknowledgement of the demons… Like inviting the demons to a seat at the table instead just being like, “No, you can’t come in.”

“Multiple Storms” feels like a very central, activating song to this record.

Can’t locate me in the waves
Pushing up and down and up again
Multiple storms from all directions
There are multiple storms
That need attention

I love the duality here where the storm is an attack, but you’re presenting this storm as a thing that needs care in a way, and you need to look at it. To work with the storm not against it is major! It’s very now, politically…socially, It’s like almost every aspect of life now needs to be sorted out and seriously addressed. It’s work. I don’t know if that’s what your intentions were with the lyrics, or if there’s another part of the album that you think is like the kind of core for you?

I wasn’t that conscious when I was writing it, but it does feel timely in terms of just like the information overload or the state of mind that we’re in… where it’s like there’s a storm in my head and there used to be just one storm and now there’s like a whole bunch of them. Which one am I tending to now?

It’s a whole ass Storm System.

Yeah. And then it’s just also this image of trying to navigate that. “Multiple Storms” feels very now to me and  relatable in a way that maybe some other songs are more personal.

On “Theme Unsteady” you revisit this idea of beauty being in between the waking things.

What goes on in dreams
A love that fulfills itself in darkness
Each dream is a child of the night
Child of sleep
Child of forgetting.

The in-between things, like dreams, also have their own life cycles. The birth of the dream and the lifespan of the dream, a fleeting thing that leaves you like a child does. I love this personification of the dream and the idea that ephemerality doesn’t diminish its relevance to your psyche or to your life. Was there something that triggered that image for you?

Dreams are one of the resources that I have creatively. The ideas on “Theme Unsteady” come from a book written by an archetypal psychologist named James Hillman, called The Dream in the Underworld. Reading his work informed a lot of the record too. And in many ways, one of the arguments of that book is that the images of dreams should be lived with as images and not necessarily broken down into small pieces that we try to interpret in this classic way like, “this equals that symbolism” or something.

His argument is to let dreams exist in this alternate realm where they exist and then to bring the images forth with you and live with them and let them be something that you work with. That resonates so much for me. So a lot of the ideas for “Theme Unsteady” come straight from that text, but also the inclusion of dreams in general was about this kind of altered alternative state.

You know, it’s like the world… the worlds between worlds, coexisting. You coexist with the idea that the dreams are going on all the time, but we access them only sometimes. Then we’re able to take something out of that realm into our realm.

I don’t want to think about what they’re taking from our realm, that’s for sure.

You just performed this album live and celebrated it. How did you feel performing these personal things live for the first time? Do you feel you have more control over them or that in releasing the record you have maybe exorcised some of these demons?

NO!

I think sharing it is exactly the moment when I started to realize that I felt so exposed. During the show I was just kind of like managing the delivery of the thing. That was like the really clear public sharing where I was like, “Oh, there’s people here.”

And somehow after that—after that release show—I realized I had exposed my whole thing.

Was there anyone you played it to that might have a sense of what you, like a personal sense of what you have going on or somebody that you like felt nervous to play it for or nervous to open up your diary to?

I think my friends know my life, so they’re just like, “Oh yeah, this makes sense.” In the same way that I know theirs, and when they make work. Like, I know your kitchen.. I know your dog. I know your life kind of, but I also don’t know all that goes on inside you. So I think I just feel it’s just a vulnerable kind of thing to share, in general!

That said though, part of me ultimately would like to see this album evolve into a theatrical presentation.

We’re talking so much about the duress of even doing something like a record but you’re also a visual artist. I want to ask about your love for the visual representation of that album, but is that something that at this day and age as an artist like yourself, has to pick and choose which parts of your art you want to take the risk on?

The images are so important to the music. It’s a different life of the music, like a live show is.

So do you feel in this day and age that you have to compromise or diminish the scope of your project because you’re like, “Well, sure, I want to do this theatrical presentation of it or whatever, but the granting bodies don’t want me to?”

Well, I definitely value being an independent artist and now more than ever it’s just like, “Who are you working for?” I think it’s important and it interests me when people are independent, but it’s like a lot of hard work and I don’t know how anybody finds the money.

It’s just like we’re dreaming big, you know? We’re big dreamers, but making the dream come true is like moving mountains. You need money and you need support, and you cannot do it alone. No one person can do that. So it’s kind of like, you know, it’s possible, but you gotta get people to invest in you and believe in you.

I think it’s possible just based on the fact that I’ve worked enough with so many people for so long in music, and art, and dance that I could make it a reality.

Welcome to the artist’s life. It’s a really perilous thing. At one point in time you have to wonder, are we addicted to strife? And then it’s funny how the work itself is meant to inspire.

No, but it is a life. It is a way of life. It is a way to live. There’s things that are really hard about it, but it’s also very honest and it can hold a lot. Something about a medium like music, it can just hold all the complexity of experience and emotions and all of it. So it’s like, what’s the alternative? To just find stability and then just hold there?

Like it’s stasis, not sustainability or steadiness…

I mean, we need to feel safe, but also the risk is real. You know, risk and reward are, both at play, so it’s like, you can’t always be safe either. You have to have these periods of not knowing. It’s more the thing that makes me mad is just that it’s not like no one has space, it’s just that we’re not allowed. It’s not like no one has money.

But then, of course, there’s also that fun to be had and connection… real connection to be made. And you’re not just doing a service as a selfless thing, even though that’s there too. But it’s like, also you’re receiving. Art and making art enriches your life. You know, like you get to be a part of something in a way that now you are a part of something that you wouldn’t have been exactly a part of before. You don’t have to conform to the group because that’s not really what the group is about.

What’s the most impactful part of A Rock Unsteady for us to take away at this moment?

Thinking about it just at this moment that you’re asking me is like a magical expression that I hope will kind of have a chemical reaction with being put out into the world. And somehow something will come of that that I don’t know about.

I’ve had a couple of people say that the songs feel like spells even though I wasn’t going at it with that intention, I think that that resonates for me even in what I perceive to be a lineage of women artists and witches…

Conjurers! Yeah.

Like conjurers and that place that we go when we are desperate. Often when we are desperate we don’t know where to turn and we have to, or want to engage with other worldly forces. You know, there’s a lot about this world that doesn’t work for me and isn’t meant for me. And I’m not like a superstar in this world; I’m not like thee person everything’s catering to but you know, in like the natural world, I feel a lot more at home or included or allowed to exist or at peace when I’m engaging with something like divination, somehow that feels like that comforts me.

The idea that what we perceive in our material circumstances is not all there is, it’s not all that exists. And every action has a reaction and those reactions can be kind of surprising and magical. So that’s what I hope for it now and how I want to think of it.

— Q&A by Kevin Hegge (@theekevinhegge)

A Rock Unsteady is available now on all streaming services, or buy the physical copy via We Are Time.